


Get Off

by donskoi



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Cable Sexual Interfacing, Decepticon High Command, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Non-Sticky Sexual Interfacing, OT4 implied, Passionate Hatred, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Tactile Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-26 21:57:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14411385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/donskoi/pseuds/donskoi
Summary: Starscream, looking for Megatron, finds an empty throne and Shockwave instead. What follows certainly counts as inappropriate use of public space.





	Get Off

**Author's Note:**

> Hey it's been a while. I'm back with my favourite rare-as-fuck-pair. Within the quod, OF COURSE. By god I will paddle this canoe.  
> This has nothing to do with my other (dead) series. It's just for fun. It takes place sometime in season 3. When? I dunno.  
> Also pretend the Nemesis has a throne room.  
> Hope you enjoy.

“Lord Megatron!”

His voice echoes. It’s the telltale sign of an empty throne room, and Starscream hisses to himself. How utterly predictable. Just when Starscream needs Megatron to be somewhere, there he certainly isn’t. Of course Megatron pops up whenever Starscream has so much as polished his thrusters wrong; but when Starscream’s done well, when he’s got something tangible to show off, the Decepticon Lord is nowhere to be found.

Starscream paces through the empty hall to the throne. It’s odd, to be alone in such a grand place. The room meant for hundreds of cheering Decepticons grows eerie in total silence. Not even the engines can be heard this deep into the ship; just the _clack clack clack_ of Starscream’s pedes hitting the floor. There are no optics to see him, but still, Starscream feels watched. _Soundwave,_ he thinks, _on_ _the cams._ Not long ago, the thought of Soundwave spying on him would have irritated or scared him. Now, it’s almost comforting. He throws an attractive wink towards one of the darker ceiling corners before he’s back to focusing on the task at hand.

Starscream soon stands before the throne. It really is empty. He hunches over like the tired old mech he is, grinding his derma together in annoyance. He scans the report he’s holding, just to make sure it hasn’t changed somehow, like his good results would sour before they can get into Megatron’s servos.

Then he looks up, at the throne again.

It wasn’t long ago that he lusted after that throne. It wasn’t long ago that he was willing to do anything to get his aft into it.

Everything’s changed, Megatron’s changed, _Starscream_ has changed, but the appeal of it hasn’t. It sits there, huge and gleaming, spiked and cold, almost as intimidating as its master. Untouchable, except by Megatron’s good graces. When Megatron had been, ah, _indisposed_ , the throne had been the least of Starscream’s concerns. So he’s never sat on it. At least, not alone.

Starscream looks around. He’s alone _now_ \--give or take one spying Soundwave.

A sly smile graces his face as he strolls up the steps, one at a time. He ducks down and places his report on a step, out of the way, so he won’t step on it should he need to quickly abscond. Then, with a turn and a flourish, Starscream sits himself down on that most forbidden of furniture.

He relaxes into it, as much as he can. The throne really isn’t that comfortable. Megatron has sat in it for so many millennia that the seat is warped into the imprint of his thighs, both of which are much bigger than Starscream’s.

 _Once again_ , Starscream thinks. _I will never fit the mold he has already shaped._

Old bitterness and anger course through him, the injustice of it all, the hunger, the want, the _want_. There was a time, when he was young and naive, that Megatron’s approval was all he cared for. Then all he cared for was Megatron’s position. Then Megatron’s death. And now? Now... He squirms.

Now he cares about far too much.

“Starscream.”

That voice echoes, just like his own had. It’s deep and clinical, at once familiar and terrifying, sending Starscream’s wings jittering with nerves. He almost gets up-- almost-- but stops himself when he recognizes the speaker.

“Oh, it’s you.” Starscream sneers it out of habit. Shockwave stands not too far away, observing him like he’s a new specimen in for testing. Or maybe like he’s an old experiment that slipped Shockwave’s mind and has come back to bite him.

“What are you doing?” Shockwave asks, stepping forward carefully, as if he expects Starscream to attack. “Where is Lord Megatron?”

“I have no idea,” Starscream says, wondering which of Shockwave’s questions he’s answering. “I was looking for him, too.” He nods towards the report. “I thought I’d wait here until he shows up.”

Shockwave stares as he moves ever closer.

“On his throne?” Shockwave asks. There’s a hint, just a hint, of disdain. Starscream smirks.

“Our throne,” Starscream says, not meaning it, not really; but riling Shockwave up is too much fun.

“Starscream,” Shockwave says, stopping just before the steps up. “You are a fool if you think we--”

“You’re the fool,” Starscream says. “Why should Megatron get all the fun?”

If Soundwave hadn’t snitched on Starscream before, he certainly is now. He’s starting to sound like his old self, the one who didn’t care what consequences his actions may bring.

“Besides,” Starscream purrs, fully committing. “What are _you_ going to do to stop me?”

Oh, how Starscream wishes he could take that back, take it all back, once Shockwave takes the first step. Then the next. And another. All the way up, until he’s standing over the throne, until he’s looming over Starscream, that red optic glaring empty and cruel.

They look at each other in silence. Moment by moment, Starscream’s confidence bleeds out into cowardice. Moment by moment, Shockwave seems larger, broader, his cannon heated and ready to fire.

“Glitch,” Starscream mutters.

Shockwave lashes out with his servo, grabbing Starscream by the wrist and hauling him up. Starscream shrieks and yanks back, skidding his thrusters against the seat so he won’t be moved. They tug and pull, back and forth, Starscream growling under his breath.

“Arrogant Seeker,” Shockwave says. “Must Megatron teach you the same lessons over and over?”

“I was just-- you don’t even know what a _joke_ is!” Starscream is spluttering with the exertion of keeping himself upright. Shockwave is very strong, but Starscream has lodged one of his pedes against the throne’s arm. He tries and fails to pry Shockwave’s digits off his wrist. “You’re leaving _dents_ , you buffoon!”

“Good,” Shockwave says, and it’s almost a snarl. Almost angry. “Megatron would do worse, if he found you here.”

“Oh, Shockwave, my hero!” Starscream _does_ snarl it, dripping the words with sarcasm. “Megatron and I have an understanding now, you deluded drone!”

“Your truce is tentative at best,” Shockwave says.

“ _Our_ truce, you mean!” Starscream finally gets tired of this game, annoyance overriding the fear. He stabs his claws into the seams of Shockwave’s servo, right where the metal parts so he can move his digits. Shockwave _huffs_ in pain and involuntarily lets go. Starscream takes the chance to jump to his pedes, intending on transforming in Shockwave’s non-face and giving him a blast with his thrusters. But Shockwave grabs one of his skinny legs and yanks him down again, pinning him to the throne with his cannon.

“I thought you wanted me to get off!” Starscream’s complaint fills the whole throne room, bounces off the pillars and stark walls.

“I do,” Shockwave says, and Starscream can’t help it. He snickers. Shockwave’s helm tilts ever so slightly to the right, a question.

Starscream rolls his optics. “You want me to _get off_ ,” he repeats. When Shockwave doesn’t react, Starscream groans. “You are insufferable,” he says, shoving his palm into Shockwave’s optic. “It’s a joke! Soundwave would have gotten it.”

“Interfacing. I do get it.” Shockwave finally steps back, so the Seeker can stand. He doesn’t, though. He stays where he is, claws digging into the throne, legs curled protectively over his chassis. Inside, his lines are tying themselves into nervous knots. He hasn’t been alone with Shockwave in a long while-- Megatron or Soundwave are usually with one of them, and worst case, Starscream can always drag Knock Out with him to the labs if he must go.

The last time he was alone with Shockwave was _back then_. Before Shockwave ‘died’. In his Cybertron labs, centuries ago.

“Did you really forgive me?” Starscream shouldn’t ask, but he’s curious. And curiosity is an itch in his plating.

“For?” Shockwave asks.

“Declaring you dead.” Starscream says the words cautiously, like they’ll sting if he’s careless.

Shockwave tilts his helm again. “Are you confessing that it was malicious?” He asks, his voice dropping degrees. “That you purposefully had the Decepticons abandon me on Cybertron?”

“No!” Starscream jumps to his pedes, finally off the throne, half-decided on fleeing outright. “O-Of course not, I actually thought-- the space bridge exploded, I thought you were dead!”

“Then there is nothing to forgive.” Shockwave pauses. “All of your other crimes, however...”

“Other crimes,” Starscream repeats with a shaky laugh. Inwardly, he curses. He shouldn’t have asked. He shouldn’t have brought this up. He should grab his report and leave.

But Shockwave is standing close. So close, Starscream can feel the hot air pouring from his vents. For some reason, Shockwave’s cooling system initiated. It gives Starscream both a chill and a thrill to think that he could affect stoic Shockwave so strongly.

“M-Megatron forgave me,” Starscream says, hating himself for stuttering. “All that, it’s all in the past now. I’m different.” _Sort of_ , he amends to himself.

Shockwave looks him up and down. Starscream sneers, again out of habit, and returns the favour. Shockwave is massive, almost as big as Megatron, and their Lord had been built for the mines. What on Cybertron had Shockwave been built for? Starscream frowns. Has he ever known what Shockwave’s intended purpose was? Or even what he did before the revolution? To the Decepticons, he’s always been their third-in-command, their lead scientist, and a most gifted torturer. Starscream is old, most of the surviving Cybertronians are-- but Shockwave is even older.

It kind of makes him... mysterious.

“Soundwave has often argued in your defence,” Shockwave says at last. “He confessed that, while you were absent, he often refused your replacements any respect.”

Starscream snorts. Airrachnid and Dreadwing-- as if they could ever replace _him_.

“Soundwave is a most loyal soldier,” Starscream says. He hesitates. “Even to me.”

“Even when you did not deserve it,” Shockwave finishes for him. Starscream scowls. It’s one thing for him to say it himself; it’s entirely another thing for Shockwave to say it.

“Regardless,” Starscream says, raising his voice like he can drown out Shockwave’s. “I should go. I need to deliver some good news to Megatron.”

“Are you not waiting for him?”

“I’m bored of waiting,” Starscream says, smirking again. Shockwave gives him a _look_ with that single optic. Starscream snickers. Most mechs think Shockwave is emotionless and empty, and Starscream is liable to agree-- except for those times, those delicious times, when Starscream makes Shockwave angry. Riling him up, making him express emotion, is sometimes dangerous, but also fun.

“If you are bored with waiting,” Shockwave says, slowly. “There are other alternatives.”

Starscream raises a brow. “Like I said, I’m going to go and find--”

“No,” Shockwave says. “You misinterpret my meaning.”

Starscream raises his other brow. “Could you elaborate?” He asks, twining his claws together.

Shockwave says nothing. For a few seconds, there’s no sound between them but the whirring of tank fans trying to cool Shockwave’s chassis. Starscream’s wings drop, then lift high, in shock.

“Are you...” Starscream looks around, blinking, expecting someone to jump out from behind a pillar and yell, ‘Got you!’ There’s no way he could be doing what Starscream thinks he may be doing.

“Am I what?” Shockwave asks, running his servo over his cannon, like he’s inspecting it. It’s almost a nervous gesture. Starscream watches, hardly able to get his next words out.

“Are you _propositioning_ me?”

Shockwave tilts his head.

“In the _throne room_?”

“Perhaps,” Shockwave says.

“You? Me? In the throne room?” Starscream’s voice rises pitch by pitch as he speaks, then it really hits. “ _On Megatron’s throne_?”

Shockwave huffs again, a half-laugh, like he can’t help it. “You were the one sitting on it,” he says. “And you also were the one making uncouth jokes.”

Starscream should have seen this coming. The truce is between all four of them: Megatron, Soundwave, Starscream... and Shockwave. All of the Decepticon high command, united for the first time in a thousand years. In more than one way.

But still. Starscream is having a hard time processing that Shockwave, of all mechs, wants to interface with him, of all mechs, one-on-one. He’s having a hard time processing that he, Starscream, wants to say _yes_.

“You... ah... you’re not afraid of being walked in on?” Starscream stalls for time. He doesn’t know what Shockwave will do if he refuses-- likely he’ll just nod and leave Starscream alone-- but he also doesn’t know what Shockwave will do if he accepts.

“No.” Blunt as ever.

“Of course not,” Starscream sighs. “They’d be mocking me for orns, not you.”

“‘They’?”

“The troops. The Vehicons. _Knock Out_.” Starscream shudders. “If we get caught, I’m blaming it all on you. I’ll say you seduced me.”

Shockwave freezes for a moment, his antennae jerking back. Then he leans forward. “So it is agreeable?” He asks.

‘ _Seduced me’ indeed_ , Starscream thinks, sneering just a little. Shockwave’s proposal is about as un-romantic as it gets, but Starscream can’t deny the flutters in his tanks or the heat building in his spark.

“Oh, very well,” Starscream says, making it sound like a chore. “How do you want to do this?”

Shockwave looks at him, then at the throne. “Logically--”

Starscream groans. “If there is any chance of _this_ happening,” he gestures between the two of them. “Then you are forbidden from using the word ‘logical’. At all. In any context.”

“Move.” Shockwave pushes Starscream aside with his cannon, not ungently, but it’s still surprising enough to warrant a squawk from the Seeker. Then Shockwave does something even more surprising: he sits on Megatron’s throne. Annoyingly, he fits in it much better than Starscream had. Shockwave then pats his lap, like an invitation. Starscream rolls his optics again, wings jerking in indignation. “Glitch,” he says under his breath, but he approaches anyway. He spreads his legs as he climbs on, straddling Shockwave’s lap, lowering himself down. Shockwave touches him; slides his servo up Starscream’s thigh, slowly, like he has every right to. It’s unerringly frustrating in every kind of way.

Once they’re both comfortable, Starscream places his servos on Shockwave’s broad chest. He suppresses all of his screaming thoughts-- _what am I doing why am I here this is dangerous this is stupid this is reckless_ \-- and dips a single claw into a seam. He draws the tip of his claw along, lightly scoring the sensitive metal and wiring beneath. Shockwave approves, if the rumbling of his engines is anything to go by.

They make themselves busy without words, dragging digits and claws along seams and divots. Shockwave steadies Starscream with his cannon and explores the Seeker with his servo, leaving no part of his warming chassis untouched. When Shockwave gets to a wing, Starscream angles it forward eagerly. Shockwave sweeps his palm across the delicate metal, then takes his time tracing its edges and seams across its surface. Starscream shivers, returning the favour by digging his claws into Shockwave’s shoulders.

There’s an audible _click_ and a _whirr_ as Starscream’s cooling system initiates. Shockwave chuckles, a cold sound that makes Starscream shiver again.

“You are,” Starscream starts, hesitating. Then he speaks his mind, as he is wont to do. “You are an especially frightening mech.”

“And you are an especially frustrating one.” Shockwave underscores his words by twisting Starscream’s wingtip. Starscream catches himself before he can moan from the shock. The first spark of electricity skitters down Starscream’s wing.

After that, the electricity builds freely. Starscream shivers, shudders, sighs with it. It arcs up and down their chassis, under their servos, little stings of pleasure-almost-pain. They keep their servos roaming, and their hips start rocking, until they’re pressed so tightly together the bolts jump back and forth between them.

“Now,” Starscream pants, impatient as ever. Shockwave’s engines rumble but he says nothing, digging his digits into Starscream’s waist. “Now!” Starscream repeats, sinking a claw into a particularly delicate seam.

There’s a small sound, barely audible, but it catches Starscream’s attention immediately. A _shift_ and he looks, sliding his claws down. There, between Shockwave’s legs; his interfacing panel has opened.

“That’s it,” Starscream purrs, earning a hard squeeze to his wing. He yelps and jerks while Shockwave glares coldly.

“Now you,” Shockwave says, but there’s something off about his voice. Something terrible, something incredible, something wanting and yearning and timeless and _hungry_.

That deep voice makes all of Starscream go weak as, helpless to his own chassis, his interface panel opens with a _snap_.

“Good,” Shockwave says. He keeps his cannon pressed into Starscream’s side, keeping him upright, while his servo drifts down. Then, without flourish, he reaches and pulls out Starscream’s cable.

Manners. That’s something Starscream wasn’t expecting. He honestly doesn’t know _what_ he was expecting from this little adventure. But Shockwave pulls Starscream’s cable gently, unspools it neatly, and plugs it into his own port. There’s a spark at the connection and Starscream is winded, wings fluttering, already losing it.

It’s his turn. With a shaking servo he reaches down, brushing past his cable and pulling out Shockwave’s. Shockwave doesn’t make a noise or otherwise react as Starscream plugs it into his port.

They resume touching, but now with purpose. Any amount of metal scratched against metal, thighs rocking together, servos squeezing and roving-- the electricity between them builds, and builds, until it sinks into their chassis. Ancient programs initiate, and in those two fragile cables strung between them, the electricity starts to surge. Back and forth, into one and out the other. Shockwave receives it and sends it back with nary a sound; when it hits, Starscream can’t help but groan, data flooding his sensors and lines with pleasure. He doesn’t have the presence of mind to send it back, but luckily, the programming does it for him.

Starscream rocks against Shockwave’s thigh, pinned between his legs, losing himself to feeling, to heat, to the building in his spark. Shockwave doesn’t stop touching him. He drags his digits up and down Starscream’s chassis, along the tip of his wings, encouraging him to move with the intensity of feeling. Shockwave himself doesn’t speak, doesn’t move, and it’d be a turn-off if he weren’t staring, watching, observing Starscream with such intensity. It’s as if--

There’s a flare in Starscream’s interface panel and he _bucks_ with it, accepting the electricity spinning between them, rubbing his whole frame against Shockwave’s, generating more of that beautiful friction.

It’s as if--

“More,” Starscream gasps, and Shockwave obliges, absorbing the electricity Starscream is creating and sending it back through his cable twofold. Starscream _shrieks,_ his chassis on fire, his antivirus screaming, the intrusion so delicious and filling and it’s gone. Back to Shockwave, who actually shudders. His servo squeezes, his optic flickers, and then it slams back into Starscream with the force of gravity.

It’s as if--

But Starscream lost the thought ages ago.

“More-more-more!” Starscream insists. He’s still grinding himself against Shockwave, taking everything the larger mech is giving and more.

“Greedy Seeker,” Shockwave groans, and the sound! Starscream never knew Shockwave could speak so beautifully. He never knew Shockwave could _be_ so beautiful. He wants to tell him-- wants to share what he’s discovered-- but-- it’s so-- he’s-- he can’t--

It hits, again and again, moving faster and faster between them. Starscream rubs his interface panel directly against Shockwave’s, tangling their cables together, sparking even more electricity. Their panels spark and static and sizzle, the contact rearing the electricity higher and higher and Starscream feels  _so good_. 

“More,” he moans, because that’s all he’s capable of now.

Their limbs twine, paint chipping between them, friction and heat and a blaze of intensity. Shockwave never stops watching. Starscream can hardly keep his optics turned on.

He’s on the edge. The very tipping point, the culmination of all feeling and pleasure and pain and overwhelming overload rising up between them. Shockwave takes Starscream’s jaw, jerking him down, so they are face-to-not-face, even as they grind together into near combustion.

“Starscream,” Shockwave growls. “I _hate_ you.”

Loathing.

 _Emotion_.

Obsession.

That’s what Starscream hears.

And how he laughs, digging his claws into Shockwave anywhere he can reach, letting the overload consume him. It starts at his interface panel and spirals throughout his chassis, a high like nothing, nothing else in this universe. Shockwave is hissing and groaning, going rigid under his claws, and Starscream knows they’re in this together.

He collapses.

After the overload has wrecked him, he stays still, leaning into Shockwave, helm pressed against his broad chest, listening to their chassis trying to catch up. The electricity has dissipated. They’re both limp, like all the metal that makes them has suddenly lost its rigidity and structure.

Starscream realizes that he’s claw-deep into Shockwave’s arm and shoulder. He pulls them out, one at a time, feeling energon welling up where he exits.

“Oops,” he half-whispers, half-chuckles.

“I’ve had worse,” Shockwave says.

“Megatron?”

“Megatron.”

“Slagger likes to bite,” Starscream murmurs. Shockwave huffs.

The silence between them is almost amicable. Content, certainly. Tired, worn down, and satisfied. Starscream examines the purple streaks crossing his inner thighs. Paint transfer, from all the grinding. Those’ll be a pain to wash off.

Then he looks up, into Shockwave’s optic.

“I hate you too,” Starscream says. “Annoying glitch.”

“Brat.”

“Pervert.”

“Traitor.”

That one hits a little too close to home. Starscream laughs it off, but still, he doesn’t move from Shockwave’s lap. He doesn’t want to move. He lies his helm back against Shockwave’s chest, and surprisingly, Shockwave wraps his arms around him. They stay like that in silence, letting their chassis resume normal functions, calming their frantic antivirus programs down, feeling the energon in their lines slow to a languid pace.

“Am I interrupting something?”

They both jump; Shockwave’s aft actually leaves the throne. Starscream twists around, trying to see, as Shockwave’s grip on him tightens.

Megatron is smirking, showing all his sharp derma. He stands not far from the throne, arms crossed before his chest, looking the pair up and down.

“Lord Megatron--” Shockwave starts.

“We weren’t doing anything!” Starscream screeches.

“Were you not?” Megatron asks. “So all those messages Soundwave sent me--”

Soundwave! Primus, Starscream had forgotten about him.

“--and the video he’s surely recorded were all of you two doing nothing, then?”

Starscream wishes Shockwave would let go of him. He’s burning up again, this time in humiliation. He discreetly reaches and unplugs himself from Shockwave.

“And on my _throne_ , no less.” Megatron looks gleeful despite the scolding. “How bold of you, Shockwave.”

Shockwave tilts his helm down. Starscream scowls.

“I’m here too,” he says.

“Yes, but I would expect this brashness from _you_. Get down from there.”

Starscream slams his interface panel shut at the same time Shockwave does. Then he scrambles up, off Shockwave’s lap and onto shaking legs. He hops down the stairs, hearing Shockwave getting up behind him. He catches sight of his report-- his results! He was going to show them to Megatron. He was going to be praised for them.

“Lord Megatron--” Starscream starts.

“Silence,” Megatron orders. Starscream stutters himself into obeying. With a gesture, Megatron has the two of them line up in front of him. He looks down on them, the smirk off his face.

“I don’t know what you were thinking,” he says. “Or if you’ve both suddenly developed a fetish for public spaces--”

“I have _not_ ,” Starscream insists.

“Quiet. You’re lucky Soundwave was watching, and was keeping the doors locked. This will _not_ happen again. Is that clear, Starscream?”

“Me?!” Starscream squawks. “It was his idea!” He points at Shockwave.

Megatron rolls his optics. “Keep it in the berthroom,” he says. “ _Clear_?”

“Yes sir,” Starscream sulks.

“Yes sir,” Shockwave says.

“Go clean yourselves up.” Megatron dismisses them with a wave of his servo. Starscream scrambles back for his report while Shockwave marches towards the doors. Starscream passes Megatron-- now’s not the right time to present his data after all-- and catches up with Shockwave, leaving the throne room with him.

“Thanks a lot,” Starscream gripes. “Getting me in trouble...”

“You get yourself in trouble.”

“And I’m covered in purple, Primus, I hope Knock Out doesn’t see me...”

But Starscream says it with a smirk, half-hoping that someone _does_ see him. Sees him walking with Shockwave, their paint messily imprinted on each other’s chassis.

There’s something incredibly satisfying about it all. He interfaced with Shockwave. Cold, empty, emotionless Shockwave, who never feels anything for anyone.

Well, he certainly feels something for Starscream, doesn’t he?

Even if it is _hate_.

Starscream’s smirk widens.

He’ll take it.

**Author's Note:**

> My goal was to make the cable interfacing as erotic as sticky interfacing. Did I succeed?


End file.
